


The Perfect Addition

by samtheboyking



Series: Adventures With IKEA [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Humor, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-27
Updated: 2013-06-27
Packaged: 2017-12-16 07:24:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,489
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/859460
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/samtheboyking/pseuds/samtheboyking
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They still haven't found a replacement table after being let down by IKEA, but luckily Cas has a plan, Dean goes along with it, and Sam might never trust either of them in his house again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Perfect Addition

"Let me see if I understand."

Sam understood just fine, Dean knew. 

He could tell by the way his brother had his hands folded, fingers clasped in a white knuckle embrace. He could tell by the way Sam was hunched over, his giant Sasquatch form looming from where he sat on the couch opposite to Dean. But mostly, Dean could tell Sam understood just fine by the magnificent bitch face he had pinched his features into, all narrowed eyes and a thin line for a mouth.

Dean had conveniently situated himself in the rocking chair instead, as far away from the scrutinizing glare Sam was directing straight towards him.

Sam, the drama queen that he was, drew in in a long breath, exhaling just as slowly. He remained silent, tense in his seat, the vein beneath his left temple visible and throbbing. When Sam didn't continue Dean chanced eye contact which, as it turned out, was the wrong move on his part. It must have been the cue Sam had been waiting for to begin his chastising, and now it seemed Dean had given him the green light. 

"You're telling me that you came to visit, ate dinner with me, and then proceeded to fornicate on top of my kitchen table."

Sam's voice was level, quiet even. With an expression that packed so much hostility one did not need the assistance of a raised voice. His lips were pursed, eyes staring down his nose and at the center sat Dean, surrounded by the firestorm and armed only with flimsy excuses as a shield. 

But Sam wasn't just going to let this one slide with a few smart ass remarks, not this time. There was no laughing off returning from a phone call and stumbling upon your brother with his boyfriend spread out on your beautiful Victorian style mahogany kitchen table like a Thanksgiving day feast, where just not even an hour ago you had enjoyed an excellent bowl of homemade fettuccine. Dean considered throwing out some remark that Cas was too delicious _not_ to be thrown across the table for a thorough ravishing, but he didn't think his humor would be appreciated at this point, and knowing Sam he would just interpret that as some sort of slight against his cooking. 

Instead Dean tried calm rationality, for a change.

"I think you are overreacting here Sam." 

For feigned nonchalance Dean thought he was faring pretty well. He leaned back, far enough that he could crane his neck and catch a glimpse of Cas shuffling back and forth beyond the archway that led into the kitchen, the sound of clanking dishes and running water drifting out to mask over the brothers' muted voices.

Sam shifted forward still, shins knocking into the coffee table, the only barrier protecting Dean from a full on lunge attack should Sam choose this course of action. Even then, Dean supposed, Sam's arms were probably long enough to reach his neck and strangle him without getting up at all.

"Alright." Dean grimaced, coming to the conclusion that there was no way around a straight, God's honest apology. "I know what we did was uncool-"

That's when Sam actually snapped. "Uncool? No, Dean, _no_ , uncool is not returning the frying pan I lent you three weeks ago, having sex on my kitchen table is somewhere in the realm of what the hell were you thinking?! I was going to make pancakes tomorrow morning Dean, but I won't even be able to enjoy my pancakes now, not with the images burned into my retinas and whatever... _stains_ were left on my table."

"Oh stop being a little bitch Sammy." Dean went to give his brother a playful slap on the knee but Sam's hands swatted at him, scowl deepening and making him look rather like a caveman. A very angry caveman out to club him to death. 

And how was that fair, Dean thought. If anyone was to blame it was Cas, and where was he? Scrubbing pots and pans, well beyond the strike zone of Sam's fury. _Son of a bitch_. More than that though, Cas had planed everything so that it would be exactly so; make Dean out to be the villain, the _deviant_ , while Cas himself merely appeared the innocent bystander swept into the mess, not to be faulted for the fact that he just happened to be there when Dean was fucking him. It didn't help that Cas had somehow perfected (Dean was not sure how or when) the face of sheer ignorance, a look embodying that of a lost puppy. 

Dean had known exactly what Cas had been doing, seen the way he was set up as the scapegoat, but when Cas had been rubbing hard against his thigh as soon as Sam had gone upstairs to take a call, all needy panting hot into his ear, a broken record of " _Dean, Dean, I need you_ ", well, _fuck caution_ is what Dean had thought, right before he had shoved Cas hard against the table.

And sure, maybe they had joked about this before, but it had never been a serious consideration for Dean, fucking on Sam's kitchen table and having Cas' recreate a Jackson Pollock with his come. 

Apparently it had been a serious consideration for Cas. 

Dean didn't see how it was fair for him to be the sole recipient of Sam's almighty rage, but nor did he know how to tell Sam to take it up with Cas, as it was _Cas_ that took the initiative to pull Dean's jeans and boxers down in one swift move, proceeding to drop to his knees and take Dean's cock between his lips to get him hard. 

After that how was Dean supposed to maintain any sort of restraint, even if there was that nagging thought at the back of his head reminding him that Sammy was going to really bitch at him if he found out what they were up to. After that, could Sam really blame Dean for pulling Cas up roughly as he managed to kick his jeans from around one foot, attaching himself to the skin of the other man's neck, all biting teeth and sucking, pulse throbbing beneath his mouth. 

That had been the point of no return, Dean supposed. There was nothing left to hold his fingers back from fumbling with the buttons of Cas' shirt, letting it hang loose from his shoulders while his mouth traced a path down, leaving wet, bruising marks from his neck to the jut of Cas' hip. 

He had reached down then to tug at Cas' pants and he could feel fingers running through his hair, trying to grip and settling for scratching nails down his neck. Cas was breathing heavy when Dean pushed the fabric from his hips only to find he wasn't wearing anything beyond the worn pair of jeans. When he looked back to Cas' face he swore the expression Cas was wearing could pass for a smirk. 

"Fuck, Cas," Dean had muttered then, dropping down and pressing a kiss to his thigh while avoiding Cas' erection, which was half hard and leaking precome. Cas had shut his eyes tight, teeth gnawing at the corner of his lip, but when Dean shot out his tongue to lick a long line across the underside of his cock a whimper broke through Cas' teeth, escalating to a full on throaty moan when Dean licked around the head before swallowing him down whole.

Cas' hands shot back, gripping the edge of the table as he arched forward, back bending in search for more. "Dean..." Cas' voice was rough, broken around the edges and his eyes opened, gazing down through dark lashes.

Dean sucked quickly, skillful tongue flattening against the vein and dragging along the sensitive underside. Cas was letting out a string of small whimpers, hips continuing to press forward but Dean pulled off suddenly, earning a frustrated groan. 

"You really get off on this, don't you Cas." Dean attached to his hip, nipping and sucking a bruise into the soft skin there around the sharp bone. Cas squirmed and Dean could hear nails scraping at the underside of the table where Cas was gripping. "You like that we could get caught, that Sam might come back from his phone call and find us like this. Maybe he'll walk in on me opening you up, stretching you, or maybe when I have you pinned across the table. Hmm, would you enjoy that?"

Dean wasn't sure where his sudden urge to talk so much came from but a sharp gasp from somewhere up above caused him to grin. 

Cas turned urgent, hands shooting out to grip at Dean's arms, trying to haul him up. "Dean _come on_." He shook his pants off from his feet, motioning to them. "Lube."

Dean reached over to feel through the back pocket of Cas' jeans, finding the small packet. He smiled and shook his head. "How long have you had this planned Cas? How long have you been thinking about it?" He tore it open and wet his fingers.

"Before we bought that stupid table from IKEA," Cas bit out sharply, eyes screwing shut again as Dean took his cock in hand, moving in slow teasing strokes. The motion at the base to watch Cas twitch in his grasp, face thoroughly flushed. 

"Turn around."

Cas complied instantly, legs parted and forearms settling on the surface of the table as he twisted his head around to gaze back at Dean.

"Now," Dean murmured, standing and leaning in close to Cas' ear, "I want you to be quiet. Don't get me wrong, I love hearing you, especially when you come, but somewhere upstairs Sam is on the phone, and we wouldn't want to disrupt his call, right?"

Cas gave a weak nod, drawing the corner of his lip between his teeth to bite again, and Dean thought it shouldn't be that hot, being exposed in his brother's kitchen with Cas just waiting to be taken hard over a table. With Cas staring back at Dean with blue eyes eclipsed by black and red cheeks though, looking like he was ready and willing to take whatever Dean was about to give, well...Dean thought it was all worth the risk of Sammy finding out they had defiled his kitchen table.

"Dean..." Cas whimpered again and Dean whispered into the warmth of his neck, "Yeah, Cas," before slipping a finger past his entrance without warning. 

Cas drew in a sharp breath before burying his face into the crook of his elbow, stifling the moan that slipped out when Dean bent his finger, moving in quick little thrusts. Dean wasted little time adding a second, feeling the muscles clench with each drag of his fingers, scissoring and twisting as Dean watched Cas try to remain still beneath him. The heat around his fingers made his dick twitch and he moved faster, a rush of excitement kicking in with the mantra of _hurry hurry hurry_ running through his head.

Cas seemed to have the same idea as he bit out, "Hurry up Dean," while pushing back against the fingers moving within him, his breathing muffled with having face pressed into his arm. 

It had been too fast, Dean thought, Cas wasn't stretched enough, but Cas was the one grinding against his fingers with a litany on " _come on Dean, come on_ " falling from his lips, voice too loud in the empty kitchen.

Dean thrust his fingers in once more, hard enough to run over Cas' prostate and cause Cas to jerk forward with a loud exclamation of " _fuck_!" which seemed to echo off the tiled counters.

"Shh baby," Dean whispered softly into Cas' ear as his fingers slipped out, moving to slick the remaining lube over his cock. He reached underneath Cas' left knee and hauled it onto the table, leaving him perfectly spread out for Dean's taking. He took a split second to admire the sight of Cas waiting beneath him, waiting to be fucked over his brother's table, pale skin contrasted beautifully against the dark mahogany wood. 

Dean could get used to this table.

Cas reached across the surface with the arm he wasn't using to bury his face in, past the salt and pepper shakers, the napkin holder, and empty pasta bowls. He gripped at the other end, fingers barely able to curl beneath the edge of the table to hold on tight. 

"Remember," Dean muttered into the hair at the base of Cas' neck while he took himself in hand, teasing the head of his dick against Cas' hole, precome and lube mixing as he circled the tight rim. "You have to be quiet." And with that he pressed forward, breaching Cas' body in one quick motion, Cas letting out a stifled yell as Dean sank into him all at once.

He remained like that, buried to the hilt with Cas almost shaking around him, tight and constricting as he brushed his fingers over Cas' sides. The muscles of Cas' forearms were straining and the leg still planted on the ground shook slightly. Dean worried for a moment.

"You good Cas?" his voice rasped and he realized Cas was biting down on his wrist, breathing harshly through his nose. "Cas?"

The man beneath him nodded, but Cas didn't move away from his wrist when he spoke. Dean heard the strained " _move_ " punctuated by the insistent rocking of Cas' hips, grinding back onto Dean's cock, and that was enough to persuade Dean to pull back, only slightly before snapping his hips to slide back into the wonderful heat. He set a steady rhythm, thrusting into Cas with one hand on his hip and the other helping to keep Cas' leg up atop the table. 

Dean had never loved a table more than in that moment. It was the perfect height for Cas, just tall enough for the right angle that set Cas to gasping at each inward motion, voice sounding oddly strangled with Cas' wrist shoved in his mouth. They were rocking together steadily and Dean's own sharp gasps joined Cas'. Cas was tight, so deliciously tight around him and Cas beneath him had turned in to a quivering mess.

He pushed against the back of Cas' knee harder, sliding him further up the table and on the next thrust of Dean's hips the hand that Cas had been using to hold back his moans shot out and across the table, knocking over the salt and scrambling to grip to the edge, the deep moans falling from his lips uninhibited now.

Dean was breathing heavily, all thoughts of keeping quiet entirely lost in the heat of Cas around him and in the way Cas would buck back against him. He was slipping in faster, rougher, slamming into Cas who in turn slammed against the table, the wooden legs beginning to groan in protest as Cas countered with his own groans of pleasure, growing louder and louder as his voice mixed with Dean's own.

The salt shaker was inching forward in time with Dean's thrusts, leaving behind a mess of tiny grains in its wake. Through the haze of pleasure coiling low in Dean's stomach he realized, vaguely, that the dishes left on the table were clanking loud over breathy gasps, and there was absolutely no way Sam could not hear the racket they were making.

Dean could not care less at that point though because Cas whimpered out, " _Dean, please, please..._ " as his hands clutched the other end of the table as if his life depended upon it.

He reached a hand beneath them, finding Cas hard and straining against his stomach. When Dean pumped his hand once along Cas' length, thumb coming up to circle around the head of his cock Cas seized up, arching off the table momentarily before he collapsed back down, hitting too hard with his forehead against the wood as he contracted around Dean, gasping against the semi-gloss surface and spilling across Dean's hand and along his own stomach. 

With Cas clenched around him Dean thrust in deep one more time, pressed against the sweat of Castiel's back and biting the skin of his shoulder as he came in a last ditch effort to keep his voice down. His eyes closed as he pulsed within Cas, groaning around his shoulder and resisting the urge to just collapse on top of the other man as they both shuddered through the aftereffects.

"Shit!"

Sam's voice cut through the fog of bliss like an ax and several things happened at once; Sam backpedaled into the side of the wall in his attempt to retreat as he covered his face with this hands, Dean jolted upright, peeling away from Cas and slipping out suddenly, and Cas let out a small whimper, finally releasing his grip on the table in favor of slipping to the floor, seemingly boneless.

"Oh my god what the hell Dean?! _"_

Sam had turned around to face the wall, though his hands were still covering his eyes. In that moment all Dean could register was the fact that he had been interrupted from his perfectly sated state of post-orgasm euphoria, and Sam had been the cause.

"What the hell Sam?!"

"Dean, living room, _now,_ " Sam ground out and then made a quick exit without sparing a second glance back at the scene.

Cas was still slumped on the ground as his breathing returned to normal, shirt still barely hanging on at his shoulders. Dean held out a hand and Cas took the offer to haul himself back to his feet, yet he didn't let go of Dean, but rather leaned in for support. 

Cas' voice was surprisingly even for someone who looked like they could crumple right back down to the floor. "I think this experience has changed my perspective on the value of a well crafted kitchen table." 

That's when Dean looked up at Cas in earnest and could not help but widen his eyes at what he saw. "Shit!" He laughed on impulse, in spite of everything, and reached out to wipe away the sweaty strands of hair sicking to Cas' forehead.

"What?" Cas' brows drew inwards. When Dean couldn't bring himself to answer he thought he could see a flash of panic behind Cas' eyes. Cas ran his hands over his face. "What Dean, _what_?" 

"You uh..." Dean motioned to his forehead, "the table left you a little parting gift."

Cas brushed over the angry red mark marring the top of his forehead, wincing and cursing under his breath. The first layer of skin seemed to have rubbed away. Dean considered it a success as far as table sex went.

They went about getting redressed (Cas pants having been kicked across the floor somewhere along the way), making sure they were at least semi presentable, though it wasn't as if they were going to be keeping up any illusions now that they'd been found out. Once they'd pulled themselves together Dean was drawn back to the table, Cas following beside him, and at least the bastard had the grace to look embarrassed, if only for a second or two. 

"I'll clean up in here and do the dishes. You should go talk to your brother and assure him no permanent damage has been done to his table." Cas grabbed a few napkins and began to wipe up the come that was streaked across the edge of the beautiful mahogany wood. He sighed and added a bit wistfully, "I do like this table a great deal." 

If Dean could have even formed a coherent sentence in that moment he probably would have tried to argue with Cas and force _him_ to go out and talk with Sam, but even so, Dean figured Cas would twist the situation somehow to come out as the innocent party in their little escapade. Dean both cursed Castiel's cunning and loved him for it. 

The thought occurred to Dean that he must actually love Cas a great deal if he was about to go out and talk with his brother about fucking on his table.

In the end, after a great deal of listening to Sam lecture him on the codes of conduct where his home furnishings were concerned and profuse apologies on Dean's end (plus the promise to treat Sam to dinner at his favorite vegetarian restaurant in town) he got off with only one last glare that could have caused third degree burns, but Dean took it all in stride, and when Sam called him a jerk as he left with Cas that evening he just smirked and shouted ' _bitch!'_ over his shoulder. 

That Christmas Sam found himself the proud new owner of an antique French oak table, while in turn Dean and Cas acquired a used (yet beautiful nonetheless) Victorian style semi-gloss mahogany dining room set.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Comments/Criticism appreciated.


End file.
